the thing about new york

During the last few months that I lived in Oregon, I became a professional Pouter.

I was so eager to get to New York that my impatience - which at one point might have been endearing - quickly turned me into a raging brat. I was dying to get to New York and had made up my mind that any time I wasn't spending in the city was a big, boring waste. (Sometimes I thought I was actually dying, but that's only because I'm really good at being a giant baby) To make matters worse, I decided that I had seen, tried, and tasted everything my little college town had to offer. I got in the delightful habit of throwing my hands up in the air and shouting, There's nothing left for me here!!! any time J suggested we go out to dinner or do something fun on the weekend. Living with me was pure joy.

For the record, Oregon is not boring and was never ever a waste. See above: big giant baby.

I have to say, though. Despite turning into a toddler, I might have been on to something.

The thing about New York is, it's impossible to be bored.
Remember the look on everyone's face when Harry kept accidentally saying Voldemort in the first, like, six movies? That's the same look you'd get in NYC if you complained about being bored. It's just offensive. Take it from Ernesto, my cab driver, "If you're bored in New York City, you've given up. You're probably an asshole, too." (Hey, he said it)

No matter what day of the week it is or how late you get off from work, there's always something to do and always people who are just as psyched as you are to do it. For example: on Friday night we were debating between 1) going salsa dancing, 2) going to a 'New Orleans-inspired Crawfish & Music festival', or 3) taking a trapeze class along the Hudson River. (What kind of options are these?! The biggest decision I've ever had to make on Friday night is whether to watch one episode of Seinfeld, or fourteen) I voted for the crawfish - who wouldn't? - but was sadly outnumbered and ended up salsa-ing my way to a whole new level of public humiliation. I only stepped on J's feet 78 times - a personal best!

What I'm saying is, if it's Monday night and you feel like drinking champagne and making papier mâché hats, there's a pretty good chance that you can find somewhere to do it (pretty good as in, 100%). Same goes for square-dancing on a Wednesday afternoon, taking fire-breathing classes, going to a restaurant that only serves oatmeal, and sword-fighting in Central Park.

Basically, New York is like, "I dare you to be bored."

photo via James Jowers